


Don't Be Afraid

by TheProfoundBlade



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Season 3, Touching, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProfoundBlade/pseuds/TheProfoundBlade
Summary: Prompt from Tumblr:Athelnar prompt where Athelstan finally dares to kiss Ragnar, and he, so as not to make Athelstan more nervous, barely touches him, letting explore his body at his own pace





	

It had taken years for this day to finally arrive. Years of teasing, hinting at, faint touches, direct words, leading hands. But as those years had progressed, the attempts to bait had become lesser and lesser, with far longer between them. Which was why that now, at winter before the next raid to Wessex, with Ragnar as King and Athelstan no longer a priest but certainly not a pagan man either, that the king did not want to risk the day to pass quicker than intended.

Ragnar had sought Athelstan in his little hut by the harbor, to ask for help for… something. Right at this moment however, the King couldn’t even remember what it was he came for in the first place. All that was on his mind was controlling his thundering heart in his chest as the little monk was leaning against him and kissing him with such delicacy it almost felt like the softest velvet was being pressed to his chapped lips.

It was as though time had frozen over like the lake. Ragnar’s eyes had closed and his hands lifted in what could be slow motion, while Athelstan was seeking closer, his lips pressing firmer and a huffed breath finally escaping him when time seemingly unfroze. Shivering and pressing his hands to his chest, Athelstan continued to press against Ragnar’s chest but turned his head away as he was breathing through his shivers, his whole body pulsating heat. Was it really winter? To the King it almost felt like midsummer, standing pressed between the wooden door and the little English man.

“I-I’m-”

Right, words - speaking. That was something they were both capable of. Although, Ragnar felt as though all words eluded him at this moment, as the nervous, younger man stuttered through his clenched, clacking teeth. Leaning forward just slightly, Ragnar ran his nose against the hairline curving over Athelstan’s ear, a soft breath escaping him as he kissed very gently and silently, making the priest freeze on the spot.

“It is alright,” Ragnar said quietly, “don’t be afraid.”

Those deep blue eyes then very suddenly found Ragnar’s as the priest had turned back to look up at the far taller man, leaning back enough to not violently hit their heads together. As though he was shocked that Ragnar spoke - or maybe, of what he spoke.

In any case, it seemed those words were comforting, or encouraging. At least that’s what Ragnar concluded, from being kissed once more, more adamant and passionate, making the King give a sigh in relief as he slumped back against the door again, his fingertips brushing over the coarse wood behind them. Clearly, Athelstan was nervous - scared of having taken such a brash step, done something so… unlike him. And even though Ragnar, more than anything, wanted to roughly grab a hold of the slighter man and tumble him over in the bed they built together, he knew it was not right to do - not now. Not if he wanted it to continue, especially not if he wanted it to happen again.

As they were sharing - surprisingly - calm and soft kisses, Ragnar felt those hands pressed against his chest start to move, to feel. Delicate fingertips running over the rough fabric of his tunic, finding the edges of his large pelt still held over his shoulders. It was almost a little overwhelming - the soft brush of Athelstan’s lips and tongue against his own, the little breaths and quiet mewls escaping them both, and those hands… those dexterous hands…

Somehow he managed to unbind Ragnar’s belt and his heavy pelt from his shoulders without the King noticing. He was likely distracted by the playful touches of a pointed tongue, rolling against his own in languid, tender motions. Ragnar didn’t realize he was slowly being stripped before the heavy thud of the pelt could be heard behind him, under him, making him snap out of the trance for just a moment to look down. Athelstan didn’t permit him to look for very long though, as he rolled forward and claimed Ragnar’s lips again, ardent and persistent. Clearly this was something the priest was enjoying too, perhaps had wanted for a long time as well…

He couldn’t help himself much more and started to kiss back rather passionately, turning his head to really be able to take everything Athelstan wanted to give him, lick softly against his lips, tongue and palette, gasping between kisses. His whole body was warming up, his fingernails scraping against the wood to try and stay put. It was hard, when Athelstan was this good of a kisser. It wasn’t worth the risk however, Ragnar evaluated, as those hands found their way underneath his tunic and started brushing against his bruised, muscular sides, thumbs pressing against his hipbones.

It continued like this for a while - Athelstan slowly undressing the King whilst still being in his full garb on his own, their tongues and lips meeting in wetter, softer, deeper kisses, Ragnar’s fingertips surely dragging little trails of blood from the sheer force of containing himself. It lasted until the King was standing in opened pants and his leather boots, and Athelstan finally pulled back from the tender kisses while his hand was brushing down Ragnar’s chest. Their breaths were shallow and fast, but quiet even for how desperate they both seemed to be if one were to judge from their wide, searching eyes on one another.

“Are you afraid?” Ragnar managed to whisper, his elbows digging against the rough wood, hands lifting very subtly, as though ready to guide him if he leaped forward.

“No,” Athelstan replied with certainty in his eyes and want on his lips.

Ragnar was not afraid to touch anymore. Nor was Athelstan. The sanctuary that was the priest’s little home quickly became a private room for exploratory touches and trailing kisses, and Ragnar thanked himself for having been so good and not simply taken what he wanted even with the slightest hint of a go-ahead from Athelstan. Had he done so, he likely would have lost out on the best evenings in Kattegat since becoming King, when he and the priest retreated together for the night in the little hut by the harbor.


End file.
